LYRICS  -AND 
LANDSCAPES 


1ARRISON-S -MORRIS 


LYRICS  AND 
LANDSCAPES 


by 
S?arrteon 


A  DUET  IN  LYRICS— 

WITH  JOHN  ARTHUR  HENRY. 

MADONNA  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
TALES  FROM  SHAKESPEARE. 
TALES  FROM  TEN  POETS. 
IN  THE  YULE-LOG  GLOW. 


LYRICS   AND 
LANDSCAPES 

BY 
HARRISON   S.  MORRIS 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

i  908 


* 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Published,  April,  1908 


THE   DE  VINNE    PRESS 


TO 

ANNA 


M191964 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Ad  Matrem 19 

After  an  Idle  Night  or  Two 136 

All  One 110 

Always 99 

An  Inland  Eclogue 67 

An  Opossum 26 

A  Sea  Litany 12 

At  Sunset 39 

A  Wood  Tryst 79 

Ballad  of  the  Chimes 31 

Beach  Peas 76 

Between  Tides 126 

Chatelaine 107 

Compline 133 

Covetise 35 

Destiny 116 


Contents  viii 


PAGE 


Duality 51 

Exile 131 

Forest  Fires  in  June 52 

If  It  Could  Be 137 

Impromptu  in  May 109 

Incarnation 62 

Joseph  Wharton 114 

June 97 

Lost 55 

May 129 

Midsummer  Noon 28 

Moon  Folk 108 

Night 3 

On  an  Etruscan  Vase 113 

Poet  and  Potentate 90 

Pursuit .  103 

Rebuke 36 

Renaissance 127 

Requiem 65 

Revelation 113 

Singing  Wood 134 


Contents 


PAGE 


Spain 138 

Stars 18 

Sudden  Sun 60 

Sunrise  in  Song 88 

To  a  Flag  Flower  in  an  Almanac 10 

The  Gilded  Gate 125 

The  Immigrants 57 

The  Rain-Drop  Prelude 132 

The  Subject  Race 135 

The  Three  Kings 41 

The  Wind's  Dalliance 128 

Upon  Reading  an  Appreciation  of  Aldrich  .     .     .139 

Verselets Ill 

Vespers 101 

Vespers 130 

Walt  Whitman 140 

Winter  Twilight 105 


®  LYRICS  AND  LANDSCAPES  © 


NIGHT 


COOL  dome  of  leaves,  close  in— 
Make  earlier  night  below  the  woven  boughs; 
Bring  stealthy  footsteps,  to  my  woodland  house 
Of  dancers  dark  and  thin. 
For  out  where  yet  the  white  light  of  the  West 
Sends  streamers  backward  o'er  the  narrowed  world, 
Night  lies  unmanifest, 
In  sable  ambush  curled, 
Eager  for  one  lone  star,  then  out  to  leap  and  tread 

Dusk  frolic  on  the  dewy  green, 
With  balanced  body  and  with  frantic  head. 


nctf  ana  ILanWcape* 


I  know  thee,  Night;  thy  minions,  beetle-black, 
Who  has  not  met  upon  a  pacing  way 

When  dusk  dips  into  day? 
Soft  shades  that  vanish  at  a  reached  touch, 
That  leap  the  rails  and  leap  the  rills, 
With  endless  bicker  up  the  hills, 
Yet  sink  to  air  within  a  timid  clutch. 
Now,  only  here  about  my  woodland  house, 

Where  light  begins  to  lack 
For  closeness  of  the  intergrowing  boughs, 

Here  only  do  they  pack, 
Leashed  by  the  hand  that  hardly  holds  them  back. 

in 

What  whispers,  what  alarums,  what  debate; 
What  'tempted  tiptoe  on  the  margin  green ! 


Lvrics  anD  Landscapes 

Mark  how  they  flutter  to  the  folded  gate 
That  lies  the  wood  between 

And  that  low  region  where  the  sun  is  late. 

Mark  how  they  bend,  as  when  the  breeze 
Walks  in  the  barley  to  his  knees; 
And  lo !  who  nimbly  springs, 
With  widened  sable  wings, 

Out  to  the  sod,  and  leads  the  way 

With  many  a  frolic  fit  of  play 

Down  all  the  valleys  to  the  heels  of  day. 

IV 

And  lo !  thy  music,  blown  on  quiet  reeds 
Amid  the  little  rivers,  where  thy  feet 

Wade  first,  when  Even  leads, 
With  shaded  torch,  thy  legionaries  fleet. 

Hearken  unto  the  rhythmic  beat, 


anD 


Down  by  the  pebbles  in  some  sedgy  seat, 

Of  atomies  that  blow  — 
With  fingers  playing  swift  and  sweet  — 
The  lyrics  of  the  vanished  after-glow, 

The  music  that  no  mortal  may  repeat, 

Of  grasses  as  they  grow, 
And  moon-buds,  and  the  swelling  wheat, 
And  scent  turned  into  sound  by  witcheries  they 
know! 


Lean,  with  thy  darkened  coronet  of  stars 
Where  hang  the  greatening  fruits 
In  summer's  languid  breeze, 
And,  thro'  the  black-enwoven  orchard  trees, 
Listen!    Vibrations,  whimpers,  sorceries; 


Lyrics?  anD  Landscapes 

The  muffled  roll  of  elfin  cars 

Across  enchanted  turf;  the  glees 

Of  wood-imps  at  their  mimicries, 

And  voices  of  old  Dorian  deities 

In  many-cadenced  keys ! 


VI 


These  are  thy  drowsy  vespers,  flung 

From  shadowy  viols  and  visionary  flutes 
That  to  the  touch  of  musing  mutes, 
Give  forth  the  fragrant  sorceries 
Of  apple-bending  shoots, 
And  winey  clusters  in  the  mid-bough  hung. 
These  are  thy  fingerers  of  unseen  salutes 
Who  touch  illusive  lutes— 


ana 


Seated  olden  oaks  among, 

And  in  the  beechen  roots- 
Like  marble  players  on  a  carven  frieze 
With  marble  songs  unsung. 

VII 

And  from  the  clay-cool  caverns;  hark—  below! 

The  Earth  is  drunken  with  the  summer  night. 
The  pulses  of  winged  dwellers  come  and  go 

That  have  not  any  might 
Save  music;  and  no  other  being  know;  — 
The  frog,  the  beetle,  and  the  buzzing  mite; 

The  cricket  with  his  tiny  tremolo  ; 
Twitter  of  dreaming  birds  that  wait  the  glow 

Of  dewy  morning  in  her  meadows  white. 
Then—  down  the  peopled  mystery,  a  pause,— 


anD 


And  now,  an  owlet  with  the  cry  of  Cain, 
In  notes  of  dripping  pain, 
An  agony  in  vain— 
And  all  the  wood  in  sweetest  tune  again. 

VIII 

Then,  here  below  leaf-thicknesses  to  be, 

O  Night,  alone  with  thee; 
To  ponder  on  thy  olden  birth 
That  was  before  the  curve  of  verdurous  Earth 
Rose,  moon-like,  through  the  azure  mystery; 

O  Night,  to  hear  thy  venerable  speech 
Sweep  like  a  sea  upon  a  sandy  girth— 

Makes  quiet  in  the  troubled  heart  of  man, 

Where  Day,  too  long  a  span, 
Lingers  with  weary  aim  to  banish  thee 
And  that  old  human  right  of  blest  tranquillity. 


TO  A  FLAG  FLOWER  IN  AN 
ALMANAC 

1  PLUCKED  you  from  your  quiet  glow 
Of  purple  glory  in  the  green, 
And  I  forgot  you  loved  the  low, 

Sweet  moisture  where  the  dock  leaves  lean. 

Forgot  it  was  your  home,  that  you 
Were  born  to  bring  a  beauty  there, 

That  Dawn  would  miss  you,  and  the  dew, 
And  Night,  and  every  wandering  air. 

Forgot  your  priestly  rite  to  hold 
A  censered  offering  to  the  sun 


ii  JLvrtctf  anD 


Who,  bending,  burns  the  marsh  to  gold 
Because  of  service  you  have  done. 

I  plucked  you,  killed  you,  laid  you  here 
Between  the  pages  stained  with  trade 

Nor  heeded,  with  the  fading  year, 
Your  tender  ashes  fail  and  fade. 

Yet,  when  on  some  mute  night  of  snow 
The  pages  open  where  you  've  lain, 

The  marsh  will  level  wide,  I  know, 
And  spring  and  you  be  young  again. 


A  SEA  LITANY 


THOU  unto  whose  forgetful  deeps  are  poured 
Tears  that  have  trembled  at  the  eye  of  mirth 
And  laughter  that  a  little  while  is  lord,  * 

Life-giver,  many-shored, 
Who  frolic  with  the  tolerated  earth 
And  toss,  or  take  back  from  her  a  heavy  hoard; 
Thou  unto  whom  Love  is  a  waftage  spent 
And  Beauty  but  the  foam  upon  thy  face, 

Grant  thou  my  cry  a  grace, 
Make  answer  with  thy  many  noises  blent 

Into  one  briny  word ! 


13 


Unto  mine  ignorance  speak,  O  august  Sea, 
Keeper  of  mysteries  that  lie  writ  in  foam— 

A  runic  mockery 
Of  wisdom,  that  may  read  the  symboled  dome 

But  pierces  not  to  thee ! 
Behold,  I  kneel  in  fealty  at  thy  marge, 
Vouchsafe,  in  accents  as  thy  limits,  large, 

Yet  tempered  to  my  timid  sense, 

Some  simple,  saving  evidence 
Of  human  heritage  in  immortality. 

HI 

For  clouding  up,  as  incense  unto  vaults 
Hoary  with  worship,  floats  the  faith  of  man 
To  azure  answerless ; 


tc0  ant)  iLanD0cape$  14 

And,  as  the  April  warbler  builds  her  nest 
Even  of  the  down  from  her  own  ardent  breast, 
So  from  virtues,  fancies,  faults, 
Power  that  for  a  day  exalts, 
Hope  that  seems  almost  to  span 
The  abysses  of  God's  pathless  plan- 
So  from  deeps  the  anxious  spirit  delves, 

And  from  shadows  of  ourselves, 
We  weave  a  refuge  for  our  nothingness. 

IV 

For  what  are  we 
That  Nature  should  annul  her  law, 

Whose  every  stately  tree 
Lives  closer  unto  old  sincerity? 
We  bear  and  build  and  buy 

And  then  we  die: 


Lyrics  ana  Landscapes 

The  day  revolves  and  earth  is  cool  with  night, 
The  morrow  glances  but  a  moment  back, 
April  is  busy  in  his  garden  plot, 

And  ere  the  year  is  white 
Our  image  and  our  message  are  forgot. 


Better,  O  Sea,  thy  sullen  resonance 
Heaving  along  innumerable  coasts, 
Than  organ-anthems  of  the  suppliant  hosts 
Dim-kneeling  in  the  litanies  of  chance, 
Wherein  the  loose-tongue  boasts: 
I  have  the  truth  within 
Bend  thou  beneath  the  rod 
Or  be  cast  out  from  God— 


anu  JlanWcaes  16 


I  have  the  truth  within 
And  I  am  free  from  sin, 
But  thou  cast  out  shalt  be 
Eternally. 

VI 

O  elemental  Sea,  is  this  the  speech 

Thy  salt  lips  hollo  to  the  windy  night 

When  long,  deliberate  billows  break  in  white 

On  every  boiling  beach  ? 
Is  this  the  burden  of  thy  brooding  years— 

That  life  is  still  so  sweet, 

'T  were  fain  repeat 
Its  loss  in  gain,  its  tyranny,  its  tears- 
Fain  that  in  pious  rivalry  we  compete 
For  precedence  in  some  divine  retreat, 
With  luckless  peers? 


anD 


VII 

Ah,  nobler,  if  without  appeal,  O  Sea 
Unprivileged,  unsolaced  by  a  fee 

The  soul  emerged  to  thee  ! 
For  sunken  to  thy  sea-green  solitudes 
Forever  heaving  to  thy  tameless  moods, 

A  wave,  a  breath,  to  be: 
O  Salty  Mother,  thus  the  spirit  broods 

Of  immortality. 


STARS 

SHIPS  of  the  air  that  haunt 
The  hidden  bays  of  heaven ! 
Do  ye  then  anchor  by  day 
In  the  arms  of  an  azure  bay, 
And  when  on  earth  it  is  even 
Your  lamps  at  the  mast-head  swing 
For  men  to  say :  It  is  seven ; 
They  are  furling  sail  in  heaven, 
It  is  time  we  folded  wing? 


AD  MATREM 

OBIIT  FEB.  23,  1895 


FAR  in  the  open  night  of  time 
She  lies  who  yesterday  was  warm  as  life, 
Who  sat,  a  simple  presence,  seemly  wife, 
Happy,  within  the  guardian  walls  of  home ; 
Who  questioned  not  the  azure  dome 
But  called  it  heaven,  nor  knew  of  other  clime 
Save  hers  that  spread  no  further  than  the  chime 
Of  bells  incoming  from  the  distant  day. 
Now,  mingled  with  the  all-revolving  clay, 


ana  JLantecaetf  20 


She  is  a  part  of  that  wide  mystery 
Which  sovereign  stars  obey 
And  the  eternal  sea. 


Here  was  her  seat,  her  couch  beside  the  hearth 
That  held  her  daylong  thro'  the  dozing  hours, 
And  here  the  windows  with  the  winter  flowers 
That  drew  their  beauty  from  a  span  of  earth— 
Ah,  too  like  her,  who  travelled  not 
Forth  from  the  one  devoted  spot, 
They  brought  a  radiance  of  the  light  and  air 
Into  the  steadfast  chamber  there— 

Nor  ever  asked  she  for  a  happier  lot 
Who  stirred  not  ever  from  her  homestead  chair. 


ana  JlanB0cape0 


in 

But,  to  her  side,  as  to  a  pool  for  thirst, 

The  troubled  came,  the  harried,  and  the  hurt. 

She  knew—  oh  well,  too  well!  the  wounded  soul 

And  how  to  soften  sorrow  that  it  burst 

In  tears  and  left  the  senses  sweet  and  whole. 

For  in  her  tender  eyes, 
Springs  of  the  deeper  lore  where  pity  lies— 
That  unlearned  wisdom  of  the  open  heart— 

Unto  each  aching  tale  would  rise 

Clear  deeps  of  kindness  like  the  loving  sky's. 

IV 

She  was  a  soul  like  nature's  that  can  take 
Our  sorrows  in  its  hand,  and  heal  a  grief 
Yet  show  no  atom  less  of  blowing  leaf 
Nor  sunny  frolic  in  the  happy  grass. 


ttf  ana  §Unn0cape$  22 

She  gave,  nor  ever  asked  a  boon- 
Gave  of  her  spirit,  gave  her  homely  heart; 
But  ever  kept  her  deeper  pangs  apart 
Lest,  hearing  these,  the  suppliant  grow  mute 

At  burdens  broader  than  his  own 
And,  in  her  anguish,  lose  confession's  fruit. 


And  yet  not  other  than  a  woman,  she: 
Frail,  unheroic,  laughter-loving,  true; 
Nor  held  it  worth  a  morrow's  thought  to  do 
Deeds  that  build  deep  a  people's  unity. 
For  not  alone  in  civic  ardor  lies 
The  might  of  cities,  but  in  human  eyes: 
In  quiet  moods  that  cool  like  evening  dew, 
In  love,  and  low  replies. 


23  JL^ric0  anD  JLantocapetf 

VI 

Such  was  her  daily  round,  till,  like  a  lamp 
That  blinks  abroad  at  twilight,  here  she  lay 
Amid  the  gathering  of  the  endless  gloom. 

Then,  craving  not  a  longer  day,— 

Though  loving  well  the  neighbor  tramp 
Of  steady  toil  below  her  darkened  room, 
And  well  the  sunlight  or  the  silver  gray 
Of  hill  and  stream,  and  lengths  of  rushy  damp, 

And  every  grass-green  way— 
Yea,  loving  these,  that  made  her  wise 

In  nature's  shy  humanities, 
She  slept  and  eddied  outward  to  the  tomb. 

VII 

And,  as  a  hand  benign  that  takes,  but  gives 
A  guerdon  greater,  so  has  death  bequeathed 


ies  ana  iLan&0cape#  24 

New  senses  that  make  new  the  solid  world. 

For  with  her  fled  the  follies  wreathed 

And  all  the  silks  of  mirth  were  furled: 
But  in  each  alley  of  the  green  earth  lives 

A  presence  which  has  breathed 
Airs  that  make  strange  the  leaf  before  them  twirled 
And  turn  the  thatch-birds  forth  as  fugitives; 

That  hold  aloof  the  accustomed  hill 
And  touch,  as  moonlight  touches,  roof  and  rill, 
And  stir  the  ashes  wherein  time  is  sheathed. 


VIII 

And  what  was  friendly  at  the  threshold,  draws 
Distant  in  elemental  loneliness ; 
And  paths  where  I  have  idled,  heeding  not, 
In  visionary  moments  bless 


25  jL^ricg  ana 


These  brooding  eyes,  that  hover  up  in  thought, 
With  stately  passage  of  dim-moving  laws. 

IX 

O,  Day  that  took  her,  Day  that  like  a  cloud 
Lurked  in  the  under  reaches  of  the  years 
With  menace  to  her  being—  be  to  me 

A  mentor  to  make  clear  the  steps  of  time; 
Show  in  the  sullen  light  that  sweeps  from  thee 
Across  the  valleys  where  we  creep  and  climb 
The  good  that  greatens  with  adversity 
The  tender  trust  that  follows  after  tears. 


AN  OPOSSUM 

I  SAW  you  from  the  dull  repose 
Of  common  things  emerge : 
The  trees  beside  the  brook  arose, 
The  hill  sloped  to  its  verge. 

My  thought  was  of  the  trivial  hour; 

I  felt  the  feathery  snow 
Athwart  me,  like  a  frozen  flower, 

Into  the  whiteness  go ; 

And  then,  without  a  warning  breath, 
You  ambled  through  the  flakes— 


27  !Lsric0  anD  JlanWcape* 

It  was  as  if  the  doors  of  death 
Had  parted  for  our  sakes, 

And  up  from  some  untrodden  sphere 
That  lay  anigh  to  mine 

You  came,  and  I  was  very  near 
To  know  a  law  divine. 


MIDSUMMER  NOON 

A  HUSH  of  summer  holds  the  silent  air, 
The  hills  are  drowsy  with  the  simmering  heat. 
No  happy  birds  wing  down  the  open  glare, 
Nor  wake  the  yellowing  acres  of  the  wheat. 
Far  is  the  neighbor  upland;  far  the  glade 
That  met  the  threshold  under  temperate  suns, 
For  now  a  winking  haze  about  them  runs 
Touching  the  sunlight  to  a  radiant  dance, 
Where  mead  and  hilltop  into  distance  fade 
And  woods  lie  dubious  in  a  sunny  trance. 


29  Juries  ana 


No  wind—  but  now  a.  trouble  in  the  leaves 
Spreading  wood-odours  like  long-folded  balm  : 
Full  of  the  tree-root  loam,  and  barken  eaves, 
And  dusky  berries  by  a  bubbling  dam  ; 
Full  of  the  scent  of  dews  that  drip  and  dry 
Amid  the  dank  leaves  of  old  seasons  dead; 
Filled  with  the  fragrance  of  some  store  of  musk 
Or  balsam  sweet  kept  yearlong  casketed; 
Drowsing  the  sense  asleep—  till,  mid-bough  high, 
One  robin  warbles  in  the  cedarn  dusk. 

The  waited  waters  parleying  with  the  rocks, 
Sole  throng  awake  while  all  the  world  is  still, 
Whisper  of  ripple  'round  the  heated  flocks, 
Or  sunnier  stretches  toward  the  weathered  mill  ; 
Or  patient  cattle  clustered  in  the  sedge, 


ano  2Unfc£cape0  30 


Seeking  the  cool  of  checkered  willow  shade- 
Yet  finding  only  heat,  for  noon  has  made 
The  very  sallows  sultry  with  his  sleep  ; 
Has  warmed  the  pebbles  at  the  ripple-edge 
And  brooded  where  the  weedy  shallows  creep. 


BALLAD  OF  THE  CHIMES 

Now,  in  where  the  sunshine  met  the  fog 
Was  a  land  of  mid-year  green, 
For  the  corn  sloped  down  by  the  clean  white  town, 
And  the  cliffs  stood  up  between. 

And  the  country  folk  were  abroad  for  church 
Where  the  lanes  lay  white  in  the  sun ; 

But  out  in  the  bay,  where  the  fog  was  gray, 
There  was  never  a  sound  save  one. 

And  this  was  the  roar  of  the  windy  sea 

As  it  leapt  at  the  rock-built  light, 
The  headlong  sweep  of  the  rollers'  leap 

Half-way  of  the  granite  height. 


c0  ana  JLanti£cape0  32 

For  the  eddies  set  for  the  splintered  shore, 
And  the  sea  folk  knew  the  sign,— 

Yet  never  a  knell  from  the  light-house  bell, 
Nor  a  note  but  the  heaving  brine. 

And  the  landsmen  crowd  the  seaward  cliff, 
With  brow-fixed  hands  in  the  sun ; 

And  the  women  wait  at  the  church-yard  gate, 
And  rumors  gather  and  run. 

And,  oh,  what  hap  to  the  keeper  hoar 
That  his  bell  clangs  never  a  note? 

And  what  shall  be  for  the  kin  at  sea, 
And  what  for  the  stranger  boat? 

For  landward  sped  a  stranger  bark, 
And  never  a  guide  had  she, 


33  iL^rtc0  anD 


And  her  skipper  cursed  the  cliff  that  erst 
Stood  sullen  on  his  lee. 

"And  or  ever  I  leave  the  coast  of  France," 
Quoth  the  skipper,  grim  and  gray, 

"There  shall  be  no  truce  but  a  shot  let  loose, 
And  a  sunken  ship  to  pay. 

"For  they  keep  no  Christian  signals  set, 

As  they  keep  in  the  land  of  home. 
Ere  they  sound  a  bell  you  may  sink  to  hell 
In  the  grip  of  a  rocky  doom." 
*        *        * 

As  a  lie  that  's  hushed  on  a  braggart's  lip 
Came  the  pleasant  sweep  of  a  bell, 

Like  a  tender  sound  from  the  underground 
When  the  Spring  hath  spread  her  spell. 


3ll?rtc£  ana  §Lana0cape0  34 

For  a  little  white  spire  in  the  village  trees 

Hath  chimed  a  Sabbath  tune ; 
And,  Skipper,  if  ever  ye  prayed  a  prayer, 

Now  thank  ye  Christ  for  the  boon ! 

Ye  have  sailed  the  seas  this  forty  year, 

Ye  have  dallied  still  with  death,— 
But  a  ship's-length  more  and  the  dull  gray  roar 

Had  stilled  thy  impious  breath. 

*        *        * 
There  is  grace  and  enough  for  the  soul  redeemed, 

And  ease  for  the  lucky  knave, 
But  what  of  the  wight  who  has  served  aright,— 

Shall  his  guerdon  be  the  grave? 

Oh  the  gripless  hand  of  the  bellman  heaved 

In  the  surf  of  the  beating  bay; 
And  the  little  white  belfry  clanged  his  knell,— 

But  the  skipper  sailed  away. 


COVETISE 

WHY  should  I  ask  a  sweeter  way 
Than  lies  before  me  day  by  day ; 
Or  envy  him,  who  seems  to  tread 
With  lighter  heart  from  dawn  to  bed? 
The  sullen  cares  that  slink  behind 
Pursue  us  both— but  in  his  mind 
Is  solace  of  a  spirit  free 
From  question  of  felicity. 
He  takes  the  day  with  happy  heart; 
I  covet  now  his  fame,  his  art; 
And,  yearning  after  what  is  his, 
I  lose  my  own  full  sum  of  bliss. 


REBUKE 


I 


BUILT  my  house  before  the  hill 
Where  his  rose  who  had  done  me  ill. 


T  was  dear  to  scan  him,  night  and  day, 
Bent  low  along  his  icy  way, 

Between  the  tall  black  trees  that  stood 
Stark,  like  his  own  ingratitude. 

T  was  dear  to  mark  how  fortune  mocked 
The  child  her  lulling  hand  had  rocked; 


37  Lvrics  anO  Landscapes 

To  see  him  totter,  old  and  gray, 
Who  was  defiant  yesterday. 

For  hate  had  given  into  my  hand 
Revenge.    I  loved  his  sterile  land. 

ii 

Then,  ere  I  guessed  it,  in  the  night 
A  verdure  dulled  the  deeps  of  white; 

Grew,  till  the  way  he  walked  was  hid 
Behind  a  sylvan  pyramid: 

For  April  loosed  a  flight  of  leaves 
Between  him  and  my  spying  eaves, 

And  I— I  bowed  like  a  beaten  god 
Below  Olympia's  mightier  nod. 


cs  anD  JLantocape*  38 


in 

O  hands  that  have  a  touch  more  thin 
Than  any  fairy  fingers  win  ! 

O  little  leaves  that  blow  and  be 
For  one  year's  day  green  company  ! 

Is  there  in  you  that  coax  the  sun 
To  light  voluptuous  woman's  fun 

A  heart  that  yearns  to  a  broken  heart 
A  blood  that  beats  for  friends  apart? 


AT  SUNSET 

DIVIDED  in  allegiance,  on  the  height, 
Between  the  boundaries  of  the  day  and  night, 
I  wait  for  counsel,  and  with  listening  soul. 
Which  is  the  spirit's  dedicated  goal? 
Still  to  move  onward  to  the  rolling  west, 
Nor  find  surcease  in  any  bowered  rest? 
Or  to  be  quiet,  and  to  feel  the  tide 
Of  cool  oblivion  round  my  feet  divide, 
Sink  into  night  and  slumber,  tho'  the  noise 
Of  clamoring  peoples  shake  the  spirit's  poise? 

Oh,  sunset,  beckoning  to  the  busy  deeps 
That  lie  beyond,  where  day  forever  keeps; 


an&  §LanD0cape0  40 


Oh,  grateful  night  with  balm  to  seal  the  eyes 
And  lull  the  laborer  into  paradise  ; 
Which?    Shall  ambition  conquer  or  the  soul? 
I  stand  divided;  which  shall  make  me  whole? 


THE  THREE  KINGS 

GASPAR,  Melchior,  Balthazar 
(Three  kings  of  Cologne) 
Travelled  outward  toward  a  star, 
Leaving  each  his  throne. 

Down  they  gat  them  to  their  gates 

Toward  the  even  hour, 
Bearing  gems  and  chosen  cates 

Herbs  of  fragrant  flower; 

Straightway  up  the  pastures  rode 
Through  the  sleeping  flocks, 

Passed  the  shepherd's  hushed  abode, 
Passed  the  well-side  rocks ; 


anD  §Lanwcape0  42 


Tarried  not  at  timbrel  touch, 

Took  no  tented  rest, 
Journeyed,  though  aweary  much, 

Up  the  slumbering  west. 

Then,  when  now  a  morrow  met 

Overhead  the  night, 
There  a  steady  star  was  set, 

Trembling  in  the  light. 

Under  lay  a  lordly  town 

Silvered  with  the  morn, 
Straight  they  entered  and  went  down 

Where  the  child  was  born. 

Ho  !  they  knocked  the  palace  gates, 
Ho  !  they  hailed  the  king: 


43  Juries  ana 


"We  are  come  with  gold  and  cates, 
Let  Hosannas  sing  ! 

"We  are  kings  accounted  wise, 

Journeyed  over-sea  ; 
Bring  us  where  the  baby  lies: 
Let  us  bend  the  knee  !" 

But  the  yawning  porter  spake  : 
"Hold,  and  go  your  way! 
Inward  lies  the  king  awake 
Smitten  of  your  fray  !" 

Then  the  crafty  king  arose, 
Spake  them  fair  and  said: 
"Enter,  eat,  and  take  repose; 
Whither  are  ye  led?" 


tttf  ana  JLanfc0cape$  44 

Then  they  pointed  toward  the  star; 

Then  they  told  the  tale: 
How  a  music  heard  afar 

Woke  the  pasture  vale; 

How  the  winged  ones  came  and  stood 

Up  the  stony  hill; 
How  the  light  ran  many  a  rood 

Thorough  mead  and  rill. 

"Lead  us  to  the  babe,  oh,  king, 

Ope  thy  palace  gates; 
Lo,  we  bear  him  wreath  and  ring, 
Gold,  and  chosen  cates !" 

Then  the  crafty  king  got  down, 
Ope'd  the  portal  wide; 


45  lyrics  anD  JLantocapetf 

"Here  doth  neither  king  nor  clown 
Save  myself  abide." 

In  they  entered,  keen  of  quest, 
Made  the  marbles  ring; 

But  they  found  nor  babe,  nor  guest  - 
None  beside  the  king. 

Then  bethought  them  of  the  star: 

Lo,  it  stood  away 
Parted  where  the  pastures  are, 

Trembling  through  the  day. 

Out  they  hurried,  mounted,  rode 

Madly  to  the  hill, 
Where,  above  a  low  abode, 

Stood  the  beacon  still; 


ies  ana  JLantocapes  46 

Went  within,  and  knelt,  and  now 

Knew  the  little  child; 
Gave  their  gold  and  bent  the  brow, 

Rested,  reconciled. 

But  the  marvel  was  her  face, 

Mary's,  with  the  eyes 
Blue,  like  upper  deeps  of  space 

Near  to  Paradise. 

Like  a  bough  that  bears  a  leaf; 

Like  a  space  of  sky 
Where  a  star  has  issued ;  grief 

Grown  tranquillity— 

So  was  Mary,  bended  down 
To  her  little  child 


47  i^rictf  ano 


Black  of  hair,  and  travel-brown, 
Lowly,  mother-mild. 

Her  they  heeded;  spake  apart; 

Hailed  her  queen  ;  but  she 
Drew  her  infant  to  her  heart- 

Timid,  fearfully. 

Spake  them  fair:  "O  wizard  kings 

Hearken,  't  is  but  one- 
Mary,  out  of  Nazareth  brings 

Here  her  naked  son  I'1 

Nay,  they  marvelled  ;  bent  the  knee 

Toward  the  resting  star: 

"Guide  us,  White  Benignity, 

Where  these  royal  are!'1 


anD  JlanWcapttf  48 


Came  a  trouble  in  the  air 

Like  a  rippled  wave  : 
Flights  of  open  wings  were  there 

Sweeping  low  and  grave; 

But  the  star  was  overhead 
Moveless,  and  they  turned 

Toward  the  lowly  oaten  bed 
Where  the  radiance  burned. 

"King  he  is,  of  thee  begot, 

Queen,  both  fair  and  good  !" 
Lo,  they  blessed,  but  knew  it  not, 
Mystery,  motherhood! 

Beauty  of  her  face,  was  it 
Made  them  worship  her, 


49  *L£rtc0  ana 


As  a  tender  glory  lit 
In  the  evening  air? 

Ah,  the  halo  that  herseemed 

Hovering  ever  through, 
This  they  marked,  but  little  deemed 

T  was  the  mother's  due. 

For  within  the  heart  of  her 

Bears  a  youngling  child, 
Secrecies  and  mercies  stir, 

Fears  are  reconciled. 

And  the  wick  of  peace  within 

Burns  upon  her  face, 
Till  the  Seer  is  her  kin; 

Kings  are  of  her  race. 


ant)  JLanDtfcapes  5° 

So  they  worshipped;  broke  the  bands, 

Bore  the  treasures  out; 
Scattered  gold  of  glorious  lands; 

Slew  the  dogging  doubt. 

Then,  when  now  the  night  anew 

Slumbered  in  the  air, 
Down  they  gat  them,  ere  the  dew, 

Hailing  all  men  fair: 

"Lo,  a  King  is  born  to  one- 
Mary,  where  yon  star 
Makes  a  cirque  of  light  upon 
All  that  bended  are. 

"Get  ye  in  and  bow  the  knee 
Unto  Queen  and  King- 
Hence  we  bear  to  a  far  countree 
Tidings  of  this  thing!" 


DUALITY 

A  STAR  hung  like  a  dewdrop 
That  greatens  to  a  sphere, 
And  if  the  wind  but  brush  by 
T  will  tremble  in  a  tear. 

But  the  star  was  fed  with  inner 

Light  that  lit  a  world; 
And  it  hung  among  the  tree-tops 

By  the  timid  May  uncurled. 

And  medeemed  the  soul  of  Beauty 
Were  the  tree-tops  and  the  star, 

For  apart  they  were  a  wonder, 
But  together  Beauty  are. 


FOREST  FIRES  IN  JUNE 

THE  dust  of  the  trodden  street 
The  blaze  of  the  brick-paved  way, 
And  the  clock-work  rattle  and  beat 
Of  a  city's  day. 

Weary  and  gritty  and  grim, 

And  the  dear  green  miles  without, 

And  the  sun  in  the  zenith  dim, 
And  the  heart  in  doubt. 

But,  up  from  the  wells  of  space, 
Through  the  rivers  of  air,  a  scent, 

A  waft  from  the  hills  of  grace 
With  the  factory's  blent, 


53  JLyrtctf  ana  JLantocapes 

Resinous,  rich,  remote, 

Like  a  memory  never  known ; 

Like  a  liquor  rich  in  the  throat; 
Or  a  wood-pipe's  tone. 

Odour  that  asks  not  speech 
To  utter  the  joys  of  toil 

In  the  alleys  of  oak  and  beech, 
In  the  free,  sweet  soil. 

Oh,  over  the  rooves  of  tin, 
That  never  have  known  a  nest, 

There  is  smoke  with  the  forest  in 
From  the  blazing  west. 

And  what  if  the  newsboy  calls— 
"A  thousand  acres  ablaze ! 


ies  ana  §Lanti0cape£  54 

A  forest  fire  that  appalls!" 
These  are  Nature's  ways ! 

It  is  meet  that  the  soul  of  the  wood 

Shall  once  to  the  city  gain 
To  heal  with  its  pungent  good 

The  wreck  of  the  brain : 

To  loosen  its  essence  there 
For  the  stitcher  under  the  roof; 

For  the  bent  back  climbing  the  stair ; 
For  the  heart's  behoof. 

Oh,  over  the  rooves  of  tin 
That  never  have  known  a  nest, 

Let  the  forest  freely  in, 
Like  a  truth  confessed. 


LOST 

You  saw  the  headstone  low  and  old  — 
Slate,  where  the  marble  rose  in  ranks, 
And  not  the  simplest  flower  told 
Of  tears  or  thanks. 

Beneath  the  willow  there  within 
The  green  close  by  a  highway  set 

She  lay  unshriven  of  her  sin 
That  was  love's  debt. 

For  carved  in  letters  deeper  than 

The  evil  in  her  maiden  heart 
This  record  of  her  trespass  ran 

In  rudest  art : 


ana  ilanwcapetf  56 


"Here  lies  a.  mother  not  SL  wife 

Her  name,  O  Stranger,  ponder  well. 
The  righteous  gain  eternal  life, 
The  sinner,  hell." 

But  Nature,  that  divines  the  right 
Had  crept  in  moss  to  hide  her  shame, 

Nor  left,  for  unforgiving  sight, 
A  letter  of  her  name. 


THE  IMMIGRANTS 

You  knew  the  leaves  were  loose  and  brown 
Out  where  the  sun  sloped,  leagues  away; 
But  here  the  city's  roar  rolled  down— 
The  walls  were  warm,  't  was  the  waning  day. 

He  leaned  and  told  her  in  her  ear 

The  curt,  loud  words  of  the  brazen  clerk— 
"No  place  for  a  man  and  wife  by  the  year; 
There  's  breaking  stone,  if  you  want  to  work." 

The  ship  had  brought  them.    Hope  blew  free 
And  filled  their  sails— in  the  steerage  hold. 


ictf  anD  iLantocapes  s8 

They  landed,  light  as  a  lover  he, 
And  she  was  glad,  ere  the  hope  fell  cold. 

Homespun  gray,  with  a  yoeman's  cap, 
And  tuft  on  chin  the  painter  loves— 

And  she  in  a  little  faded  wrap 
With  a  veil  washed  green  and  mended  gloves. 

He  carried— as  if  his  wealth  it  were— 
A  cage  tucked  round  with  bordering  chintz: 

For,  away  from  the  well-loved  land  they  bore 
The  song  that  had  swung  in  the  window  glints. 

And  I  knew  that  when  the  chill  was  deep 
And  human  help  was  a  sullen  Nay, 

A  song  would  spring  from  the  cage  and  keep 
The  troth  that  was  made  over-seas  away. 


59  Lyrics  ana  Landscapes 

Heedless  the  city ;  leagues  beyond 
The  leaves  were  eddying  dull  and  dead. 

They  passed— and  his  mild  blue  eyes  were  fond 
And  her  heart  was  full— was  it  hope  or  dread? 


SUDDEN  SUN 

WHY  did  he  hide  his  face 
Who  lolled  in  the  chariot  seat, 
With  the  rattling  chains  of  wealth 
And  the  pair  with  pawing  feet? 

For  the  sun  that  was  splashed  with  cloud 

Broke  wildly  through  and  sloped 

In  a  torrent  of  yellow  light 

Where  the  riders  huddled  and  groped. 

And  the  stone  that  was  grim  was  gold, 
And  the  wintry  willow  laughed, 
And  the  road  was  of  paven  amber, 
And  of  wine  the  water  quaffed. 


6  1  fifties  ana 


For  the  bleak  earth  loved  the  sun— 
And  it  blessed  even  him  and  his  gold. 
But  he  shuddered  and  shut  it  out. 
Was  his  heart  so  bitter  cold? 


INCARNATION 

THE  granite  rose  on  either  side 
In  hills  the  toil  of  hands  had  made: 
The  many-windowed  gaols  of  trade 
Where  eyes  are  dimmed,  ideals  fade, 
And  youth  forgets  the  earth  is  wide. 

With  light  to  make  a  meadow  glad 
The  liberal  morning  sloped  the  street; 
But  here  the  yellow  sun  was  heat, 
Or  harmed  the  wool  or  hurt  the  wheat 
Of  trampling  merchants,  eagre-sad. 

Yet  one,— below  the  least  of  these,— 
Of  wrinkled  cheek  and  rounded  back, 


63  Jl£ric$  ano 


Looked  cheerily  on  the  sunlit  track, 
The  ruddy  bricks,  the  shining  stack, 
And  found  delight  in  city  trees; 

Nor  heeded  how  his  burden  weighed 
Because  his  eyes  could  see  the  sun  ; 
Nor  knew  that,  out  of  myriads—  one, 
Beside  him  saw  a  shadow  run 
That  clasped  the  centuries  in  its  shade. 

A  tray  of  tools,  a  timbered  frame 

That  lay  along  the  shoulder,—  these 

Bent  low  his  back  and  plodding  knees 

From  nature's  nicer  symmetries, 

And  stirred  the  breath  that  went  and  came. 

But  like  a  loving  spirit,  there, 
In  even  footfall  at  his  side, 


ictf  anB  Jian50cape0  64 

A  shadow,  walked  the  pavement  wide 
With  bended  head,  and  humble  pride, 
And  angled  cross  aslant  the  air. 

It  was  as  if  the  dateless  sun 
Forgot  the  years,  the  far  abode— 
And  lo !  upon  the  sordid  road 
The  cross-worn  Nazarean  trode, 
Holding  the  journey  never  done. 


REQUIEM 

THEY  watched  her  eddying,  like  a  leaf 
The  tides  among, 

Nor  heeded  where  her  robin  hung— 
For,  missing  her,  he  had  not  sung, 
Save  when  she  spoke  once,  low  and  brief. 

But,  sudden,  there  amid  the  vines 

Her  hands  had  wet, 
Between  the  curtains,  hanging  yet, 
She  loved  to  draw  when  day  was  set, 

He  warbled  like  a  bird  divine. 

Was  it  a  dream  of  upland  ways 
With  open  wing? 


itf  ana  §LanD0cape$  66 

Or  was  it  pity  made  him  sing 
For  her  whose  spirit  hovering, 
Brought  peace  within  her  holy  face? 

None  knew— but  hark!  the  captive  brain 

Set  free  the  heart! 
He  trilled  the  sombre  night  apart, 
And  they  that  waited  saw  her  start, 

And  then  she  turned— and  all  was  vain. 

No  speech  was  uttered ;  yet  her  eyes, 

Dim  with  the  night, 

Turned  upward  toward  the  squares  of  white 
With  tender,  oh,  with  tender  light, 

And  blessed  him  out  of  Paradise. 


AN  INLAND  ECLOGUE 

WIDE  were  the  elm-boughs  bent  over  the  roof, 
With  lattices  of  shadow  that  fluttered  to  the 
breeze ; 

Brown  with  the  dyes  of  weather  and  of  years 
The  checkered  walls  of  freestone  facing  to  the  roads. 
Like  a  covert  shady  in  an  olden  wood, 
Grateful  with  rest  the  porches  ran  about; 
And  there,  by  the  pump,  with  hands  upon  his  hips, 
Leaned  the  merry  landlord,  blinking  at  the  sun. 
Years  had  not  maimed  him,  age  had  only  risen 
Like  a  whitened  eddy  breaking  in  his  smiles. 


cs  ana  JianWcapetf  68 

Red  were  his  chaps  and  plump  his  fatted  paunch, 
And  like  a  winded  racer  he  panted  when  he  moved. 
"Ho,  ho !"  he  laughed  to  Billy  at  the  trough, 
"Lead  her  in  and  fill  her,  pad  her  out  with  oats. 
Little  more  'n  her  ribs  'd  make  a  handy  rake. 
He  's  nigh  as  lean  a-drinkin'  in  the  bar." 
Then,  with  a  sound  like  echoes  in  a  vault, 
Ebenezer  laughed,  and  shuffled  to  the  tap. 
There  stood  the  rider,  rusty,  black,  and  tall 
As  any  single  cedar  on  a  lonely  hill. 
Laugh  would  he  not  at  even  that  one  joke, 
Never  failed  of  laughter,  nay,  this  forty  year. 
Asked  for  his  room,  and  ordered  dinner  straight, 
And  stalked  away  in  silence,  nor  nodded  even  thanks. 

There,  in  the  cool  sweet  quietude  of  summer, 
Summer  made  dim  with  lattices  and  leaves,— 


69  lyrics  anD 


There,  in  his  room  that  smelt  of  folded  linen, 
Laved  he  his  face  and  wet  his  fevered  wrists; 
Peered  out  the  while  between  the  bowed-in  shutters, 
Far  on  the  fields  that  sloped  in  green  away, 
So  to  his  eyes,  that  happiness  made  sadder, 
Came  now  a  smile,  as  when  the  heart  recalls. 
There  lay  the  creek  asleep  in  yonder  meadow, 
There  once  he  waded,  angled,  when  a  boy; 
There  stood  the  nut-trees  hoary  on  the  hill 
That  pelted  down  the  shellbarks  when  the  wind  was 

high; 

There  ran  the  lane,  a  rutted  loop  of  brown, 
Leading  by  the  green  ways  lower  to  the  dell; 
And,  where  the  tufts  of  overhanging  clover 
Nodded  at  the  edge,  a  neighbor  chimney  rose. 
Ah,  how  his  heart  beat,  how  his  bosom  quivered, 
Touched  by  the  hopeless  memories  of  home  ! 


anfc  JLanWcapetf  7° 


Sweetheart  and  sister,  mother,  father,  brother— 
Where,  where  were  these  that  held  him  overdear? 
Where,  too,  the  self  of  shining  innocence, 
Builder  of  dreams  and  fellow  of  the  fields, 
Self  of  the  unlearned  knowledge  of  the  dawn 
Breaking  into  wisdom  or  dying  into  dust? 

Yea,  where  the  self,  loved  closer  than  his  kin, 
Fallen  like  a  shadow  shutting  out  the  light? 
Self-love,  self-will,  and  vanity  of  self 
Snapped  all  his  ties  and  tossed  him  to  the  sea, 
Raged  till  he  fell  and  lay  a  length  of  years, 
Doomed,  in  the  homesick  equatorial  heat. 

For,  when  he  kissed  her,  Lucy  of  the  Elm, 
Kissed  ere  the  troth  had  privileged  his  lips, 
She  with  a  gentle  joining  of  the  hands 
Chided,  and  he  in  passion  flung  away. 


lyrics?  ano 


Sullen  he  strode  for  two  defiant  days 
Out  all  the  lanes  that  levelled  to  the  Elm. 
But  when  her  eyes  turned  wistfully  astray 
Came  from  the  city  news  that  was  despair: 
"Never,"  he  wrote,  "should  any  woman  make 
Light  of  his  loving,  and  he  was  for  the  sea." 
Yet,  through  the  years  and  over  all  the  leagues, 
Dark  leagues  of  sea  that  laboured  to  the  South, 
Through  even  that  bleak  solitude  of  self, 
There,  like  a  tender  spirit  of  his  past, 
Stood  in  the  Elm  shades  Lucy  of  the  Elm, 
Joining  her  hands  in  daring  gentleness. 

Hark,  at  the  door—  a  knock—  and  hark,  again! 
So,  with  the  voice  of  one  who  stirs  in  sleep, 
"Come  in,"  he  called,  and  she  was  standing  there. 
Sweet  as  of  old,  her  face  was  like  the  hopes 


ics  anti  iLanttfcapes  72 

Men  far  away  keep  kindled  yet  of  home ; 
Crossed  on  her  bosom  the  kerchief  of  her  sect, 
But,  like  a  halo,  silver  was  her  hair. 

Ah,  but  the  thrill  that  nearly  caught  his  heart, 
Swept  out  his  hand  as  if  to  fondle  hers, 
Gleamed  in  his  eye  one  moment  and  was  gone, 
Chilled  and  denied  because  she  knew  him  not. 
"Friend,  will  thee  dine?"    She  bowed  in  gentleness, 
Then  led  the  way  along  the  listening  hall 
Summer-cool  with  oil-cloth,  curtained  in  with  chintz, 
Scented  with  the  leaves  that  tapped  the  window-sill. 

Each  savoury  dish  was  like  a  whiff  of  home, 
Gathered  at  the  threshold,  tasting  of  the  soil; 
Yet  could  he  eat  not,  hungered  tho'  he  was, 
Hungered  and  weary  with  the  dusty  miles; 
For,  in  his  eyes  that  seeming  little  saw, 


73  IL^rictf  ana 


Levelled  through  the  window  down  the  lower  lane, 
Inward  and  absent  as  of  him  who  dreams, 
One  only  object  centred  and  was  real- 
Gentle  Lucy's  hair,  that  like  an  aureole 
Crowned  and  uplifted,  severed  her  from  him. 

Snapped  was  the  self  that  bound  him  in  its  bonds. 
Freed  and  delivered,  only  now  he  knew 
How  she  had  loved  him,  how  she  stood  apart 
Sanctified  by  sadness,  sainted  by  regret. 

Noiseless  she  trod,  a  presence  like  the  soul 
Wherewith  a  house  is  hallowed  to  a  home; 
Poured  out  the  milk,  and  brought  him  fragrant  corn, 
Beef  from  the  pastures,  lettuce,  mellow  beans, 
Apples  and  cakes;  yet  looked  not  in  his  face 
Save  as  a  stranger  scans  a  silent  guest, 
Pondering  on  his  business,  guessing  at  his  name. 


ies  and  !Lan&$cape$  74 

Then,  when  he  threw  the  napkin  on  the  cloth, 
Pushed  back  his  chair,  and  bowed  unspoken  thanks, 
Oh,  how  his  heart  was  breaking  in  his  breast ! 
Breaking  to  utter,  "Lucy,  I  was  wrong— 
Take  what  is  left.    I  loved  you,  love  you  still; 
Take  what  is  left—"  he  durst  not  say  the  words. 
What  could  he  give  her  precious  as  her  grief? 
What  but  the  self  that  wrought  her  silver  hair? 
"This  way!"  she  said.    He  touched  the  tap-room  door, 
Turned,  and  was  gone,— and  Lucy  knew  him  not. 

Then,  when  the  inn-yard,  dozing  in  the  shade, 
Wakened  to  the  tinkle  of  unwilling  hoofs, 
Lucy,  with  the  crumb-brush  balanced  in  her  hand, 
Peeped  through  the  blinds  and  saw  him  out  of  sight. 
"Oh,"  said  her  heart,  "that  some  one  happy  day— ^ 
Some  day  of  days  forever  to  be  blessed— 


75  !L?rtcd  anti 


So  should  arrive  from  over  sea  and  land 
One  whom  I  love,  but  he  comes  not,  comes  not." 
Then,  to  her  work.    And  like  a  homeless  bird 
On,  on  he  travelled  farther  from  her  heart. 


BEACH  PEAS 

HERE,,  where  the  sand  and  the  sea 
Caress,  and  forever  embrace, 
You  have  bloomed,  as  a  child  that  may  be 
The  fruit  of  their  race. 

You  were  born  to  the  drench  of  the  salt 
To  the  murmur  of  waves  in  the  night 

To  the  scream  of  the  gulls  through  the  vault 
And  to  foam  that  falls  white. 

For,  the  purple  you  wear  in  your  hood 
And  the  lace  of  your  leaves,  are  a  sign 


77  lyrics  ana  JLanD0eape$ 

You  are  sprung  of  imperial  blood— 
Tho'  of  lowlier  line. 

I  took  from  you  seven  round  seed 
To  a  land  that  is  warm  with  the  sun, 

Where  the  soil  is  of  tenderest  mede 
And  of  wind  there  is  none. 

And  I  waited;  and  watered  the  earth— 
And  I  sheltered  the  seed  from  the  north ; 

There  was  never  a  token  of  birth, 
Nor  a  blade  to  come  forth. 

For  you  dream  of  the  drench  of  the  salt 
And  the  murmur  of  waves  in  the  night, 

And  of  gulls  that  give  joy  and  exult 
And  of  foam  that  falls  white. 


ics  ana  JLan60cape0  78 

And  the  dream  was  shut  up  in  your  seed 

As  a  hope  in  the  heart  of  a  man, 
And  they  longed  by  the  salt  to  be  freed— 

And  they  died  of  the  ban. 


A  WOOD  TRYST 

rHE  moon  curled  open  like  a  flower, 
First  to  a  bud  of  gold, 
Then,  in  a  pale  and  radiant  hour, 

With  pauses  manifold, 
Lay  in  the  lucid  heart  of  heaven 
Tremulous,  wan,  and  cold. 

Deep  in  leaves  a  lady  lay, 

White,  her  witched  gown. 
Where  the  moon  looked  it  was  day 

Leafy  alleys  down- 
Yet  her  head  was  still  alway 

Tho'  its  tress  was  blown. 


anD 


Moon-leaves  on  her  bodice  fell, 

And  upon  each  lid; 
All  athwart  her  like  a  spell 

Shadows  dipt  and  hid— 
And  her  hands  lay  pale  and  still 

Twisted  grass  amid. 

Moving  in  the  mellow  light 

Of  the  rounded  moon 
Came  a  fairy  ringlet  white 

Tiptoed  into  tune- 
Came  and  circled  left  and  right 

With  a  mythic  rune. 

One  in  midst  a  maple  bud 
Waved  above  her  eyes  : 

Lady,  singing,  cold  the  wood; 
Rise!    Rise!    Rise! 


8  1  lyrics  ana 


Twitch  thy  tunic,  tie  thy  hood- 
Hark  the  owlet  cries  ! 

Thereto,  like  a  weary  guest, 
Came  her  lids  apart, 

And  a  breathing  of  her  breast 
Made  her  bodice  start— 

All  in  crimson  was  she  drest 
Close  about  her  heart  ! 

Yet  anon  she  rose  and  took 
From  a  fairy's  hand 

Flowers  of  a  magic  look, 
Like  a  lily-wand— 

Yet,  in  never  a  forest-nook 
Grown,  nor  any  land. 

And  with  deft  and  dainty  care, 
Thro1  her  bodice  fold, 


ictf  anti  JlanWcapes  82 

These  she  nestled  'twixt  the  bare 

Sweets  of  her  bosom  cold, 
Till  the  flowers,  frozen  there, 

Withered,  and  were  old. 

Then  with  many  a  tempted  start, 

Many  a  turn  of  eye, 
Many  a  fluttered  hand  at  heart, 

Many  a  hurried  sigh- 
Then,  she  threw  her  wings  apart, 

Yielded  with  a  cry. 

Like  a  spirit  of  the  night 

Sprinkled  with  the  moon, 
Underbough  she  took  a  flight 

Toward  the  witched  tune, 
Through  the  leafage,  fair  and  white, 

Slipped— and  lay  aswoon. 


83  tLi?rtc$  ana 


Was  she  tranced,  was  she  dead, 

Sick  of  honey-brew; 
Weary,  laden,  lanthorn-led, 

Toward  the  brink  of  blue? 
Hearken  !  hath  her  spirit  fled 

Sweeping  down  the  dew? 

Nay,  the  dial  of  leaf  and  sun 
Counted  Summer's  tide, 

And  the  careful  creepers  run 
Tendrilled  to  her  side- 

Yet  her  slumber  was  not  done 
Tho'  her  eyes  were  wide. 

Autumn  with  a  mother's  care, 
Made  a  slip  of  leaves, 

Flung  a  faded  mantle  there 
From  the  ashen  eaves, 


tcg  an»  JLanWcapes  84 

Covered  heart,  and  coiled  hair, 
Skirt,  and  silken  sleeves. 

Winter  with  memorial  snow 

Moulded  her  a  hearse, 
Made  his  arctic  organs  blow 

Many  a  requiem  verse- 
Held  afar  the  hungry  crow 

Cawing  out  a  curse. 

And,  when  air-bells  in  the  blue 

Woke  the  dreaming  wood, 
Grasses  like  her  image  grew 

Woven  on  the  sod, 
As  if  blade  and  sun  and  dew 

Wrought  and  understood. 

But  above  her  broken  heart, 
Like  its  living  seed, 


85  Juries  anD 


Freaked  with  many  a  dye  and  dart, 

Rose  a  wondrous  weed, 
Like  a  flower  of  witches  art 

Culled  in  magic  mead. 

And  the  slanted  even  ray, 

And  the  dew  of  dawn 
And  the  madrigals  of  May 

Blown  of  fluting  faun  : 
All  things  that  were  sweet  or  gay 

Sped  that  flower  on. 

Till,  within  its  crimson  core 

Lay  a  cloven  heart 
Which  the  binding  petals  wore 

With  a  piteous  art 
So  to  sweep  the  soul,  or  pour 

Bitter  tears  astart. 


ies  anD  JLantocapes  86 

Hearken!— like  an  elfin  song 

Eddying  down  the  wood : 
"Follow,  follow,  late  and  long 

At  the  tryst  she  stood 
Follow!"  dying,  "ding— ding  dong"— 
Slips  the  airy  brood. 

And  the  leafage  in  alarm 

Whispered  of  a  guest- 
Babbling  echo  blew  a  harm 

Into  every  nest- 
Hush!  a  faun— a  fairy  charm! 

Nay,  a  carven  crest. 

One  of  Knighthood,  yet  with  eye 

Like  a  gulf  of  grief, 
Weary  of  his  panoply, 

Wan  as  winter  leaf, 


8  7  §lt>rtc$  ana  Jlantocape* 

Woe-begone,  for  aye  to  be 
Shorn  of  love-relief. 

Lo !  thy  lady,  Knight,  is  fair— 
Shapen  of  the  green ; 

Buds  and  berries  are  her  hair, 
Grasses  are  her  mien, 

And  her  broken  heart  is  bare 
In  its  petal  screen ! 

Drain  the  scent  and  drink  the  dew 

Of  her  crimson  weed- 
Is  thy  troth  forever  true? 
Take  her  for  thy  meed ! 
Hark !  what  elfin  laughter  blew— 
—Clasp  her  for  thy  need! 


SUNRISE  IN  SONG 

O  SPARROW  on  the  bending  bough, 
The  air  is  gray,  the  sky  is  dull ; 
What  filled  your  little  heart  so  full 
While  mine  was  heavy  now? 

I  could  not  sing  without  the  sun, 
The  sun  that  is  the  harper's  hand 
Across  the  chords  of  sky  and  land, 
Tuning  them  into  one. 

But,  tir-a-lee !  thy  merry  throat- 
It  is  as  if  the  sun  were  back; 
For,  parting  wood-ways,  winter-black, 
Thy  melody  doth  float 


89  JLi?ric0  ana 


Into  my  chamber,  thro'  my  heart; 
Over  the  mists  that  blur  mine  eyes, 
And,  bless  me  !  how  the  sun  doth  rise 
Where,  on  the  bough,  thou  art! 


POET  AND  POTENTATE 

A  POET  at  my  portal  ?    Ho ! 
Summon  our  household,  knight  and  knave. 
Let  trumpets  from  the  towers  blow, 
Strew  rushes,  make  the  chamber  brave. 

What  say  you,  hath  he  garb  of  green 
Silken  and  ample,  folding  down 
Straightway  from  off  a  lordly  mien; 
Are  laurels  woven  for  his  crown  ? 

Are  gems  set  deep  upon  the  hand 
That  idles  with  the  strings  divine; 
Do  straining  leopards  lead  his  band, 
Are  bearers  bent  with  skins  of  wine? 


Juries  ana 


Go  forth  and  greet  him  !    Ho,  my  staff, 
Mine  ermines.    Bid  my  queen  attend  ! 
A  Poet?    We  shall  love  and  laugh 
And  lift  the  cup  till  lamplight  end. 

Spread  napery,  trim  the  banquet  wicks, 
Make  ready  fruits  and  cates  of  price, 
Let  flow  the  vats,  and  straightway  mix 
A  costly  vintage  rich  with  spice. 

Lo,  he  has  journeyed;  make  him  ease 
Of  scented  waters,  linen  sweet; 
Forget  no  maiden  ministries  ; 
With  unbound  fillets  dry  his  feet. 

Music  !    Bring  viols  of  tender  tone, 
Low-breathing  horns,  the  silvery  harp. 


te  ana  Jlantocapes  92 

No  clamor,  no  bassoon  to  moan, 

No  hautboy  shuddering  high  and  sharp. 

He  enters,  say  you?   Truth,  but  where 
The  Ethiops  that  should  lift  his  train, 
The  rhythmic  dancers  ankle-bare, 
The  glow,  the  scent,  the  sapphic  strain  ? 

Alone,  in  simple  tunic  gray ! 

No  harp,  nor  any  leaf  of  green— 

T  is  but  a  whim,  an  antic  play, 

A  masque  to  mock  us  of  our  spleen. 

Bid  him  ascend  beside  us  here. 
Greeting,  Sir  Poet,  joy  and  health. 
But  an  you  come  to  dwell  a  year 
This  realm  were  barren  of  its  wealth. 


93  l^ric*  ana 


Full  many  a  moon  we  droop  and  die; 
A  very  winter  chills  our  wit; 
Laughter  we  crave,  the  twinkling  eye 
And  fond  romance  in  passion  writ. 

God  save  us,  thou  hast  come  from  far  ! 
Ay,  travelled  many  leagues,  my  Lord. 
And  much  have  seen  ?    Ay,  stream  and  star, 
And  mid-wood  green  and  shadowed  sward. 

Then  sit  and  tell  us—  eye  and  hand 
And  voice  a  triple  music.—  Yea, 
My  steps  have  measured  many  a  land 
Where  beauty  waits  beside  the  way. 

But  what  of  dogging  ballads  sung, 
And  roses  reddening  every  road, 


ana  Jlanwcapes  94 


And  wreaths  from  castle  casements  flung, 
And  ribboned  towns  that  flocked  abroad? 

Nay,  these  I  knew  not,  save  you,  Sire  ; 
I  kept  the  byways  sweet  and  still, 
My  feet  were  friendly  with  the  mire, 
My  house  is  but  a  roofless  hill. 

My  dance  is  when  the  tiptoe  sun 
Makes  merry  through  the  oaken  wood, 
My  roses  round  the  thatches  run, 
The  brier  berries  are  my  food; 

For  music,  just  the  nightingale- 
Nay,  't  is  a  jest.    Ho,  summon  up 
His  people.    Ere  we  hear  the  tale 
Let  's  eat  and  empty  out  the  cup  ! 


95  JLErtctf  ana 


Nay,  Sire,  my  people  are  but  such 
As  fluted  once  on  sylvan  reeds: 
Seers  who  felt  the  finger-touch 
Of  Pan  and  played  of  mythic  deeds; 

Or  such  as  walk  the  moving  air 
With  rumor  of  the  might  of  old, 
Of  wisdom  that  was  once  despair, 
Of  love  a  thousand  lutes  foretold. 

Marry,  his  wit  is  passing  rare— 
A  merry  fellow!—  Nay,  the  quip 
Hath  lost  its  savor.  Sire,  I  fare 
Alone,  what  faithfuller  fellowship? 

For  Nature  loves  no  go-between 
To  listen  at  her  cloister-latch  ; 


Alone  I  trode  the  listening  green 
And  slept  below  the  forest  thatch. 

Alone  I  won  the  silences, 
The  summits  of  the  sovereign  mind, 
And  backward,  like  ascending  seas 
I  saw  the  moving  millions  blind- 
Save  you,  Sir  Bard,  't  is  song  we  crave, 
No  sermon.    Ere  the  banquet  chill 
Get  down  and  dine,  defy  the  grave, 
Pour  wine  within,  the  flagon  fill! 

Ho,  draw  the  silks,  the  tapers  touch ; 
Poet,  behold,  the  lackeys  bow- 
Nay,  Sire,  I  tarry  overmuch, 
A  simple  crust  were  sweeter  now. 


JUNE 

WHEN  the  bubble  moon  is  young, 
Down  the  sources  of  the  breeze, 
Like  a  yellow  lantern  hung 

In  the  tops  of  blackened  trees, 
There  is  promise  she  will  grow 
Into  beauty  unforetold, 
Into  all  unthought-of  gold, 

Heigh  ho ! 

When  the  Spring  has  dipped  her  foot, 

Like  a  bather,  in  the  air, 
And  the  ripples  warm  the  root 

Till  the  little  flowers  dare, 

7 


ies  anft  iLantocapes  98 

There  is  promise  she  will  grow 
Sweeter  than  the  Springs  of  old, 
Fairer  than  was  ever  told; 

Heigh  ho ! 

But  the  moon  of  middle  night 

Risen,  is  the  rounded  moon ; 
And  the  Spring  of  budding  light 

Eddies  into  just  a  June. 
Ah,  the  promise— was  it  so? 
Nay,  the  gift  was  fairy  gold; 
All  the  new  is  over-old, 

Heigh  ho ! 


ALWAYS 


Is  love,  then,  only  liking 
That  lasts  while  beauty  is; 
Or  while  the  clock  is  striking 
Forgetful  hours  of  bliss? 

ii 

Is  love  the  cheek  that  wrinkles, 
The  eye  that  saddens,  oh— 

Is  love  the  star  that  twinkles 
But  with  the  dawn  must  go? 


es  anD  jlanwcapetf  100 


in 

Ah,  happy,  who  have  found  it 
In  other  measure  made 

With  tender  ties  around  it 
And  tranquil  with  the  shade; 

IV 

With  hope  and  home  and  laughter 
And  —  whether  beauty  stay 

Or  blacken  with  the  rafter— 
A  true  love  all  the  way. 


VESPERS 

TWILIGHT,  with  thy  tender  touch, 
Loose  the  yoke  of  day ; 
Free  my  shoulders,  overmuch 
Worn  in  duty's  way. 

Lay  thy  cool  and  quiet  hand 
On  my  lifted  face; 
Drop  thy  shadows  down  the  land, 
Pacify  my  pace. 

Lift  the  drowsy  tops  .of  trees 
Into  amber  skies; 
Slip  the  tightened  thong  of  ease; 
Cover  curious  eyes. 


anD  JLanltfcapetf  I02 


Love,  that  life  but  little  knows 
Save  it  spring  in  pain, 
In  thy  simple  silence  blows 
Young  as  Eve  again. 

Liquid,  lovely  twilight  let 
In  my  senses  stay 
Quiet,  for  an  amulet 
Through  the  driven  day. 


PURSUIT 

TELL  me,  Catbird  in  the  trees, 
Has  a  lady  been  this  way, 
Wears  a  robe  whose  symmetries 

Pull  and  play 

With  the  clover  at  her  knees- 
Say!    Say! 

Has  she  set  her  tender  feet 
On  the  springy  floors  of  grass, 
Where  the  crickets  murmur  sweet 

Even-mass? 
Has  she  made  them  answer  fleet 

Ere  she  pass? 


tctf  ana  JLanascapttf  104 

She  is  slender;  she  is  light, 
Like  the  willow  ere  it  leave ; 
Like  the  timid  steps  of  night 

Out  of  eve ; 
She  is  clad  in  simple  white, 

Slip  and  sleeve. 


WINTER  TWILIGHT 

SKY  as  inner  hues  of  shells 
Tinted  by  the  sea; 
Lucid,  like  the  lily-bell's 

White  serenity: 
So  the  light  of  Even  dwells 
Over  me. 

Ruddier  at  horizon  rim 

Where  the  ebon  trees 
Stand  imprinted  leaf  and  limb 

Stolid  in  the  breeze ; 
Crimson,  where  the  waters  dim 

Drip  and  freeze. 


attD  JLanteeaetf  106 


Winter  bends  his  icy  head, 
Seated  by  the  west  ; 

Blows  the  ashen  fagots  red 
Ere  he  greet  his  guest, 

Night,  that  by  a  star  is  led 
Unto  rest. 


CHATELAINE 

O  SPRING  with  dangling  girdle-keys 
Come  in  and  free  the  Daffydilly, 
Undo  the  gyves  from  almond  trees, 
The  padlock  from  the  lily. 

Loosen  the  birds  from  gaoler  South, 
Undo  the  streams  that  lie  in  prison, 

And  take  the  muzzle  from  the  mouth 
Of  violets  newly  risen. 

Exchange  the  hostage  held  of  Snow, 

Release  the  Rose  from  diet  frugal- 
Leap  to  the  castle  gate  and  blow 
The  dragon-guarded  bugle. 


MOON  FOLK 

O  SCIENCE,  hadst  thou  but  a  heart, 
What  deeper  wisdom  then  were  thine ; 
For  not  as  dead  the  moon  would  shine, 
But  peopled  by  a  race  apart. 

For  when  we  look  with  loving  eyes, 

Rose  in  the  South,  and  I  at  sea, 

And  make  the  moon  our  trysting  tree 
And  meet  embodied  in  that  wise- 
Tell  me,  O  Science,  is  the  moon 

A  blasted  chaos  void  of  man? 

Or  are  there  some  that  leap  the  span 
And  meet  and  make  a  lunar  June? 


IMPROMPTU  IN  MAY 

THE  wheels  turn  and  the  waves  break, 
And  the  work  of  man  runs  on; 
But  the  Spring  comes  up  the  wood-alley 
And  links  her  arm  with  Dawn. 

The  mill-hand  and  the  day-drudge, 

They  do  their  dusty  toil ; 
But  the  Spring,  with  flying  ribbon  runs, 

And  the  buds  break  thro'  the  soil. 


ALL  ONE 

OH,  the  bud  that  comes  out  of  the  bark 
And  the  song  that  comes  out  of  the  lark 
And  the  star  that  comes  out  of  the  dark, 
Bring  a  lyric  out  of  me,  O ! 

For  my  heart,  it  is  kin  to  the  song ; 
To  the  star,  to  the  bird  I  belong- 
As  the  dust  is  the  laboring  throng, 

And  the  drop  is  the  limitless  sea,  O ! 


VERSELETS 


How  wonderful  is  the  alchemy  of  the  soil: 
For  here  's  a  seed  and  there  the  crumbled  clod, 
And  each  were  barren  to  eternal  toil 
Saving  when  mingled  in  the  hand  of  God. 


THE  dusk  that  steals  the  world  away 

Undoes  a  beacon  star; 
So,  years,  when  you  have  touched  me  gray 

Will  hope  shine  out  afar? 


ana  Jlanttfcapetf  112 


III 

THE  East  is  touched  with  gold, 
From  out  a  sunset  rolled ; 

As  if  one  ran  with  flame 
And  here  and  there  set  fire 
To  gable,  arch,  and  spire 

In  some  light  game. 

IV 

THE  verdure  came  and  shadows  spread  to  shade. 
The  green  bound  all  the  gray  old  maple's  head, 
But  never  till  the  night  wind  blew  and  made 
The  leaves  sing,  did  I  dream  the  winter  dead. 


REVELATION 

WHAT  if  a  voice  from  a  star  should  wake  us  in 
the  night? 

Wisdom  and  awe  were  ours,  and  worship  and  affright; 
Yet  from  the  breaking  sea,  forever  a  message  falls 
And  we  heed  it  not,  nor  know  that  the  heart  of 
Nature  calls. 


ON  AN  ETRUSCAN  VASE 

THE  heart,  the  hope,  the  peopled  town 
Lie  buried  deep  in  Time's  decay— 
And  yet  the  artist's  soul  comes  down 

Embalmed  in  this  new  shape  of  clay. 


JOSEPH  WHARTON 

MARCH  3,  1907,  81  YEARS  OLD 

NOT  years  alone  nor  fortune  make 
The  gray  beatitude  of  age ; 
Nor  are  the  golden  words  he  spake 
The  glory  of  the  Sage. 

Unless  the  heart  enrich  the  man 
And  love  transfigure  gifts  and  gold, 

The  key  is  lost  that  keeps  the  plan 
And  time  but  leaves  him  old. 

You,  from  your  eighty  years  and  one, 
Look  down  on  acres  stacked  with  grain ; 


1  1  5  Ulrica  anD 


On  acts  of  wisdom  gently  done; 
On  honour  without  stain; 

And  all  the  seasons  yet  to  be 
Can  never  make  your  spirit  old, 

For  love  has  taught  you  liberty 
And  truth  has  made  you  bold. 


DESTINY 

READ  BEFORE  THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY, 
DELTA  CHAPTER  OF  PENNSYLVANIA,  JUNE  15,  1899. 

OUR  many  years  are  made  of  clay  and  cloud, 
And  quick  desire  is  but  as  morning  dew; 
And  love  and  life,  that  linger  and  are  proud, 
Dissolve  and  are  again  the  arching  blue. 

For  who  shall  answer  what  the  ages  ask? 

Or  who  undo  a  one-day-earlier  bud? 
We  are  but  atoms  in  the  larger  task 

Of  law  that  seeks  not  to  be  understood. 

Shall  we  then  gather  to  our  meagre  mien 
The  purple  of  power,  and  sit  above  the  seed 


1  1  7  JL^ric0  ana 


While  still  abroad  the  acres  of  the  green 
Invisible  feet  leave  imprint  of  their  speed? 

We  are  but  part;  the  whole  within  the  part 
Trembles,  as  heaven  steadied  in  a  stream. 

Not  ours  to  question  whence  the  leafage  start 
Or  doubt  the  prescience  of  a  people's  dream. 

For  these  are  cradled  in  the  dark  of  time, 
And  move  in  larger  order  than  we  know; 

The  isolate  act  interpreted  a  crime, 

In  perfect  circle,  shows  the  Mind  below. 

Forth  from  the  hush  of  equatorial  heat 
The  wiser  mother  drove  her  sable  kin- 

Was  it  that  through  our  vitiated  wheat 

A  lustier  grain  should  swell  the  life,  grown  thin? 


ies  anD  JLanWcapes  1 18 

Was  it  that  upward  through  a  waste  of  blood 
The  brutal  tribe  should  struggle  to  a  soul,— 

That  white  and  black,  in  interchange  of  good, 
Might  grope  through  ages  to  a  loftier  whole? 

Who  knows,  who  knows?    For  while  we  mock  with 
doubt 

The  ceaseless  loom  thrids  thro'  its  slow  design ; 
The  waning  artifice  is  woven  out, 

And  simple  manhood  rears  a  nobler  line. 

Then  wherefore  clamor  to  your  idols  thus 
For  bands  to  hold  the  Nation  from  its  growth, 

And  wax  in  terror  at  the  overplus 
Won  from  dishonor  and  imperial  sloth? 

Wherefore  implore  the  Power  that  lifts  our  might 
To  punish  what  His  providence  ordains; 


1 1 9  floras  ana  tlantocapetf 

To  fix  our  star  forever  in  its  night ; 
To  hold  us  fettered  in  our  ancient  chains? 

The  Nation  in  God's  garden  swells  to  fruit, 
And  He  is  glad,  and  blesses.    Shall  we  then 

Shrink  inward  to  the  dulness  of  the  root, 
And  vanish  from  the  onward  march  of  men? 

Give  up  the  lands  we  won  in  loyal  war; 

Give  up  the  gain  and  glory,  rule,  renown, 
The  orient  commerce  of  the  open  door, 

The  conquest,  and  the  wide  imperial  crown? 

Yea,  were  these  all,  't  were  well  to  let  them  go ; 

For  idle  gold  is  but  an  empty  gain : 
An  empire,  reared  on  ashes  of  its  foe, 

Falls,  as  have  fallen  the  island-walls  of  Spain. 


tes?  ana  !LanWcape0  120 

Treasure  is  dust.    They  need  it  not  who  build 
On  better  things.    Our  gain  is  in  the  loss: 

In  love  and  tears,  self  victories  fulfilled, 
In  manhood  bending  to  the  bitter  cross. 

In  burdens  that  make  wise  the  bearer,  wounds 
Taken  in  hate  that  sanctify  the  heart, 

In  sympathies  and  sorrows,  and  in  sounds 
That  up  from  all  the  open  waters  start; 

In  brotherhood  that  binds  the  broken  ties 
And  clasps  the  whole  world  closer  into  peace ; 

In  East  and  West  enwoven  loverwise, 
Mated  for  happy  arts  and  home's  increase. 

What  though  the  sere  leaf  circle  to  the  ground- 
Its  summer  task  is  done,  the  bough  is  clean 


fortes  ana 


For  Spring's  ascent  ;  the  lost  is  later  found 
In  some  new  recess  of  the  risen  green. 

We  are  but  Nature's  menials.    T  is  her  might 
Sets  our  strange  feet  on  Australasian  sands, 

Bids  us  to  pluck  the  races  from  their  night 
And  build  a  State  from  out  the  brawling  bands. 

Serene,  she  sweeps  aside  the  more  or  less, 
The  man  or  people,  if  her  end  be  sure  ; 

Her  brooding  eyes,  that  ever  bend  to  bless, 
Find  guerdon  for  the  dead  that  shall  endure. 

Truth  marches  on,  though  crafty  ignorance 
Heed  not  the  footfall  of  the  eternal  tread. 

The  land  that  shrinks  from  Nature's  armed  advance 
Shall  lie  dishonored  with  her  wasted  dead. 


es  anU  JLanWcapes  122 

Yea,  it  behooves  us  that  the  light  be  free. 

We  are  but  bearers,— it  is  Nature's  own,— 
Runners  who  speed  the  way  of  Destiny, 

Yielding  the  torch  whose  flame  is  forward  blown. 

We  are  in  His  wide  grasp  who  holds  the  law, 
Who  heaves  the  tidal  sea,  and  rounds  the  year; 

We  may  return  not,  though  the  weak  withdraw; 
We  must  move  onward  to  the  last  frontier. 


XVI  SONNETS 


THE  GILDED  GATE 

A  THRUSH  sang  in  the  boughs  above  his  gate 
With  that  old  passion  of  the  Phrygian  glade; 
And,  hushed  in  sacrificial  awe,  I  stayed 
With  Love  beside  me  and  arrested  Fate. 
But  why,  oh  Singer  whom  no  eras  sate, 
Warble  thy  service  at  this  altar  made 
For  Mammon  and  the  rituals  of  Trade 
And  to  a  brazen  Moloch  dedicate? 

There  is  no  soul  within  him,  where  thy  song 
Falls,  and  has  answer,  and  appears  anew 
In  lifting  meditations  that  belong 
To  worship  and  the  tender  twilight  true. 
Man's,  and  not  Nature's,  are  his  moving  laws, 
Nor  ever  bends  he  to  a  Primal  Cause. 


BETWEEN  TIDES 

OPULENT  August,  brown  and  beautiful! 
See  how  she  drowses  in  her  yellowing  wheat, 
Her  swarthy  oxen  idle  with  the  heat, 
Her  hand  sleep-fallen  from  the  harvest-tool. 
Hark,  for  the  tanned  boys  at  the  sultry  pool 
Break  through  her  dreams,  and  brazen  locusts  beat 
Their  cymbals  in  the  acres  at  her  feet— 
Up  the  hot  sky  the  mill-smoke  ravels  dull. 

Time  halts.    It  is  the  mid-hour  of  the  year. 
The  heat  irradiates  as  from  reddened  ore—. 
To-morrow  will  the  East  undo  her  door, 
And  flocks  of  gray  winds  touch  the  clover  sear. 
Which  then  is  life;  which  death?    The  trance;  the 

thrill? 
The  throb  of  action,  or  the  slumbering  will? 


RENAISSANCE 

A  TIMID  step  upon  the  outer  rim 
O'  the  world;  and  hush!  a  sweep  of  blowing 
hair; 

And  down  the  spaces  of  the  frozen  air 
A  lightness,  warmth,  deliverance!    'T  is  the  whim 
Of  Spring  to  be  upon  us  ere  the  snow 
Suspects  her,  ere  the  sodden,  sleeping  soil 
Has  dreamed  of  rousing  for  the  tiller's  toil. 
Deep  is  earth's  slumber  and  her  senses  slow. 

And  in  my  heart,  as  if  it  too  could  stir 

To  grass  and  feel  the  ichor  of  the  air— 

The  imprint  of  the  timid  Spring  is  there, 

The  waft  of  odour  and  the  sweep  of  her; 

And  youth  still  beckons,  tho'  the  boughs  are  bare ; 

On  altars  dead  He  embers  new  of  myrrh. 


THE  WIND'S  DALLIANCE 

How  joyous  must  the  wind  feel  when  it  blows 
First  through  the  soft  resistance  of  the  green, 
When  May  has  hung,  the  naked  boughs  between, 
Her  tender  darlings  all  in  dancing  rows. 
The  winter  long  it  buffeted  and  froze 
And  rocked  in  loveless  anger  through  the  treen, 
Seeking  for  comrade  leafage,  and  the  lean 
Limbs  knew  not  how  to  find  the  wind  repose. 

But  here,  the  next  day  after  May  has  reached 
Tiptoe,  and  garnished  greenly  each  wide  gap, 
The  wind  lies  like  a  lover  on  his  back 
Dallying— takes  each  leaf  in  his  gentle  lap 
With  soft,  long  kisses,  like  to  one  beseeched 
By  sea-girls  from  his  onward  ocean-track. 


MAY 

WHEN  at  each  door  of  bark  a  tender  tap 
Echoes,  and  all  within  's  agog  for  Spring; 
Then,  ere  the  fledgfcd  leaves  are  yet  awing, 
While  down  below  the  cisterns  of  sweet  sap 
Stand  ready  tilted— from  her  wintry  nap 
May  wakens,  all  her  tresses  out  of  ring 
Her  limbs  acold  with  many  a  frosty  sting; 
And  last  year's  blossoms  withered  in  her  lap. 

Few  days,  and  hearken— like  a  wizard  horn 
Blown  in  the  deeps— Music!  and  lo,  the  blue 
Opens  its  hollow  heights,  and  shows  us  thro* 
Into  the  sunny  sources  of  the  morn. 
Then,  in  a  car  wrought  out  of  clouded  dew, 
Young  May  across  the  eager  green  is  borne. 


VESPERS 

THE  midfield  lies  upon  a  lowland  height 
Where  timid  evening  tiptoes  at  the  edge, 
And  you  may  see  her  dark  eyes  through  the  hedge 
Of  cedars  that  imprint  the  westward  white. 
Cool  green  the  wheat  is  in  the  quiet  night, 
And  dusk  the  deeper  coolness  of  the  sedge, 
Down  where  the  field  takes  gentle  dips  to  pledge 
The  earliest  cricket  for  his  treble  light. 

Then,  here  's  a  little  alley  elbowed  in 
Between  the  fields,  a  coppice  that  has  run 
To  be  a  road  where  lovers  would  begin 
Straightway  caresses.    To  a  tranquil  one 
Who  leans  through  open  windows  of  the  leaves 
There  's,  either  way,  the  gold  of  wheaten  sheaves, 


EXILE 

THRICE  have  the  seasons  passed  my  country  door, 
And  still  my  face  averted  heeds  them  not. 
For  once  I  knew  each  varied  robe  they  wore 
And  heard  them  call  me  from  the  haunted  plot. 
We  were  as  comrades  are  of  common  lot, 
And  lay  together  on  the  threshing  floor; 
We  idled  where  the  sun  was  harvest  hot 
And  watched  the  bluet  break,  the  bee  explore. 

Now,  through  the  bars  of  duty,  little  light 
Strikes  in,  and  that  once  refuge  of  the  grass 
Here  at  my  threshold  wears  an  alien  air. 
Though  nearer,  I  am  further  from  thy  sight, 
Great  Mother,  than  the  multitude  who  pass 
The  echoing  pavement  and  the  lamp-lit  stair. 


THE  RAIN-DROP  PRELUDE 

NIGHT  closes  in— the  vacant  autumn  night, 
The  night  once  cloistered  in  her  odorous  green. 
The  sere  brown  alleys  under  naked  treen 
Dip  into  darkness  ere  a  star  is  bright. 
And  in  my  heart  the  ruined  aisles  unite, 
And  in  mine  ears  their  music  sobs  between 
Forsaken  cadences  of  what  hath  been 
And  tender  notes  that  trump  the  coming  light. 

Ah,  Chopin,  with  thy  fingers  on  the  keys 
The  mystery  is  riven ;  from  the  deep 
Rise  up  the  voices  of  the  dreaming  world— 
Earth-murmurs,  and  the  surges  of  the  seas, 
And  low  adieus,  and  vain  regrets  that  weep 
Immingled  with  the  verdure  cold  and  curled. 


COMPLINE 

AS  evening  settles  down  along  the  land, 
y\   And  lamps  blink  and  the  wind  is  lulled  asleep, 
Then  through  the  spirit  moves  a  knowledge  deep 
The  day  denies  us;  then  a  living  hand 
Nestles  from  Nature  into  ours,  as  sand 
Slides  in  the  glass:  we  dream,  and  half  we  leap 
The  barriers  that  the  dumb  Recorders  keep, 
A  ray  streams  through,  and  half  we  understand. 

For  twilight  is  the  spirit's  dwelling-place, 
Where  mystery  melts  the  slow-dissolving  world 
And  ghosts  of  order  step  from  accident. 
Faith  that  still  hovers  where  the  dew  is  pearled 
Steals  forth  and  beckons,  and  from  banishment 
Our  dearer  selves  we  summon  face  to  face. 


SINGING  WOOD 

UPON  HEARING  A  GIRL  PLAY  THE  VIOLIN 

IF  with  a  kinsman's  finger  you  could  fret 
The  vital  chord  in  any  clod  or  stone, 
Would  there  not  bubble  to  the  air  a  tone 
Of  that  one  central  music  hidden  yet? 
Would  there  not  sound,  in  ears  that  still  forget, 
Notes  of  the  dumb,  pre-natal  antiphone, 
Strains  to  unlock  the  sense  from  that  long  swoon 
Which  holds  us  till  we  pay  the  bounden  debt? 

So  with  this  wood  to-day  you  touched  to  song, 
In  it  there  slumbered  all  a  season's  sweet: 
The  moonlight  and  the  morning  and  the  wheat 
And  crocuses  and  catbirds— one  low,  long 
Sweep  of  the  bow  and  there  a  year  you  drew 
As  lies  a  landscape  in  a  drop  of  dew. 


THE  SUBJECT  RACE 

WHEN  I  behold  the  stars  in  steady  march 
Down  the  long  reaches  of  the  open  night 
And  think  upon  the  majesty  and  might 
That  roll  them  through  the  illimitable  arch- 
Then,  on  my  mortal  senses  like  a  weight 
Of  terror  falls  the  littleness  of  man 
Swept  like  an  atom  thro'  the  pathless  plan, 
A  grain  of  dust  blown  by  the  winds  of  fate. 

And  yet,  how  precious  in  his  own  conceit 
Is  man,  how  vain  of  place,  revengeful,  proud, 
While  the  slow  planets  to  their  duties  bowed 
Swing  through  the  aether  like  a  subject  race, 
And  all  we  know  is  but  a  sunset  cloud 
Wearing  the  light  of  God  upon  its  face. 


AFTER  AN  IDLE  NIGHT  OR  TWO 

WHAT  of  the  days  that  make  no  honey ;  store 
No  minted  coinage  in  the  hidden  vaults 
Of  Fame;  th'  unfruitful  acreage,  the  faults 
Where  run  no  ingots  of  the  sinuous  ore? 
What  of  the  hours  spent  in  inner  war 
With  work,  when  duty  vacillates  and  halts? 
Are  there  in  these  no  message  which  exalts, 
No  harvest  save  the  dreamer's  idle  lore? 

Life  is  a  learning;  and  a  lazy  day 
Teaches  the  music  which  the  toilers  miss: 
Under  the  lamps  or  when  the  shadows  lay 
Light  coverlets  across  me,  I  may  kiss 
Hems  of  the  happy  harpers,  who  will  play 
Only  for  them  who  harry  not  their  bliss. 


IF   IT  COULD  BE 

ONCE,  Shepherd,  set  at  lip  thy  treble  pipe, 
And,  noon-long,  in  thy  shadowed  oaken  lair, 
For  ease,  undo  thy  careless-curling  hair 
Across  thy  cheek!    Once,  browned  and  overripe 
With  sunny  fluting  in  the  nibbled  meads, 
Make  me  Arcadian  music,  make  me  sheep 
Huddle  the  green,  and  when  I  rise  from  sleep, 
Make  in  my  fluent  fingers,  treble  reeds ! 

O  sunburnt  Shepherd !  see,  thy  leaves  are  here, 

The  self-same  grass;  and,  once,  this  sun  to-day 

Dappled  of  old  the  green  Sicilian  way 

With  globes  of  light  and  shadow  sphere  in  sphere; 

Ionian  winds  but  wait,  if  thou  wilt  play, 

To  bear  us  back  to  many  a  golden  year ! 


SPAIN 

OF  old  she  lashed  her  helm  and  led  her  host 
In  glorious  galleons  to  unsounded  seas; 
And  where  her  banner  lengthened  to  the  breeze 
The  cross  stood  guardian  over  cliff  and  coast. 
War  was  the  bauble  of  her  haughty  boast, 
The  cutlass  lay  across  her  armored  knees 
Forever.    Yea,  she  built  on  tyrannies 
The  sacred  ramparts  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Sure  was  her  doom ;  and  that  dim  land  she  won 

With  lust  and  learning  from  its  savage  rite,— 

Taught  by  the  radiance  of  a  colder  sun, 

Has  crossed  the  sea,  made  tame  by  her  old  might, 

And  yielded  back  as  righteous  benison 

The  flame  of  freedom  for  her  altar  light. 


UPON  READING  AN  APPRECIATION 
OF  ALDRICH 

FROM  the  hard  clamor  of  the  brazen  throat, 
Man's  moving  legions  in  the  metal  street,— 
How  shall  we  find  the  tranquil  old  retreat 
With  thatchen  quiet  and  the  robin's  note? 
How  shall  we  fly  from  millionaires  that  bloat 
The  yellow  acres  into  pits  of  wheat, 
Distilling  commerce  from  the  crocus  sweet, 
Straining  a  profit  from  the  Shepherd's  oat? 

Ah,  into  thy  cool  close  of  verdurous  verse, 
Aldrich,  I  turn  and  find  a  green  recess 
Where  the  pure  simples  of  Parnassus  nurse 
Mine  ear  offended,  and  my  heart's  distress- 
Where  rumble  of  the  inevitable  hearse 
Stirs  not  a  leaf  of  life's  seclusiveness. 


WALT  WHITMAN 

HE  was  in  love  with  truth  and  knew  her  near— 
Her  comrade,  not  her  suppliant  on  the  knee: 
She  gave  him  wild  melodious  words  to  be 
Made  music  that  should  haunt  the  atmosphere. 
She  drew  him  to  her  bosom,  daylong  dear, 
And  pointed  to  the  stars  and  to  the  sea, 
And  taught  him  miracles  and  mystery, 
And  made  him  master  of  the  rounded  year. 

Yet  one  gift  did  she  keep.    He  looked  in  vain, 
Brow-shaded,  through  the  darkness  of  the  mist, 
Marking  a  beauty  like  a  wandering  breath 
That  beckoned,  yet  denied  his  soul  a  tryst: 
He  sang  a  passion,  yet  he  saw  not  plain, 
Till  kind  earth  held  him  and  he  spake  with  death. 


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